


Supernova

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Drama & Romance, Falling In Love, Ghost Victor Nikiforov, Heavy Angst, M/M, Major Character Injury, Pining, Rating May Change, Romantic Comedy, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Voyeurism, we thought we could write a lighthearted ghostfic we were wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-11 23:43:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10477227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: su·per·no·van.the explosion of a star, possibly caused by gravitational collapse, during which the star's luminosity increases by as much as 20 magnitudes and most of the star's mass is blown away at very high velocity, sometimes leaving behind an extremely dense core.A tragic traffic accident leaves the legendary figure skater Victor Nikiforov comatose with a fifty percent chance of living. After his idol and beloved role model Victor Nikiforov basically loses his entire career in the span of one night, Yuuri is devastated - but he of all people should know that Victor is far more likely to go out with a bang, not a whimper.





	

**Figure Skating Legend Victor Nikiforov Hospitalized in a Tragic Traffic Accident**

What was supposed to be another strong season for Russia's top figure skater and five-time gold medalist, Victor Nikiforov, was cut short by a tragic and sudden traffic accident that took place around midnight on March 20, just before he was set to compete at the World Championship. Nikiforov was reportedly heading to his home rink in St. Petersburg, Russia after visiting family in Moscow with his younger counterpart, Yuri Plisetsky, who was also in the car during the crash. Fortunately, Plisetsky remained relatively unharmed and left the hospital with only a few scrapes and bruises.

Nikiforov, however, was not as fortunate. While details are scarce, it's been reported that Nikiforov's vehicle failed to negotiate a curve and he was thrown from the car. Nikiforov retained very few physical injuries but was unconscious from head injuries when paramedics arrived, and was flown to a nearby hospital where he reportedly received a prognosis that gave him a fifty-fifty chance of living.

When interviewed about Nikiforov's status, coach Yakov Feltsman remained relatively curt. In a recent report, Feltsman stated that he is unsure of whether or not the 21-year-old figure skater will make it, but he intends to keep focusing on Plisetsky's success. He also stated that the Russian figure skating team (including famous competing women's figure skater Mila Babicheva, who is reported to have been very close with both Plisetsky and Nikiforov) is hoping for his wellness and recovery.

Nikiforov is reportedly comatose and has not regained consciousness since the crash. It's almost impossible for him to make a full return to competitive figure skating from the head injuries he retained, if he survives. He is currently hospitalized and more information is yet to be obtained. Hopefully, more information will be made available on Nikiforov's status.

Whether or not Nikiforov will regain consciousness is debatable, but his accident has left hundreds of fans worldwide devastated. The #PrayForVictor tag has been trending on Twitter since the incident, and multiple get well soon messages have been left on various social media websites. Plisetsky has not been available for interview since the accident, but a post to his Instagram account reveals that he is still practicing and intends to return for his Senior debut this fall.

 

* * *

 

The cell phone in Yuuri's hand weighs a ton.

He reads and rereads every article his eyes come across, his knees pulled to his chest and his hands white-knuckled as he grips the phone too tightly. The words become a blur of black and white as heat burns at the backs of his eyes - it feels so stupid to be crying, but it's the only possible way for him to process what he's reading. Words like 'tragic' and 'unfortunate' and 'untimely' flash across the screen over and over like some kind of pitiful mantra, and it isn't until he hears the terrible noises coming from his mouth past the pounding in his head that he realizes he's sobbing.

Victor Nikiforov. The name is sacred, and now it's like another knife driven through his chest: it's like food poisoning, distorting the noise until it sounds cruel and revolting. He isn't a shining aspiration, a picture of beauty on and off the ice - Victor is empty, lying somewhere comatose on a hospital bed, and he's  _gone._ He's not dead, but somehow that makes it worse, because if he was dead then it would make sense.

But no. Instead he sits there toeing the edge between life and death and leaves Yuuri feeling numb and lost, torn between the loss of a role model and the chance of losing him to begin with. Somehow, that's infinitely worse, because either way it means Victor is no longer skating. Somebody who challenged boundaries and tamed the ice is now chained to a hospital bed, connected to a dozen wires struggling to preserve a now useless life.

Yuuri has always been overly empathetic. His mother has told him it's his strength and his weakness, because it makes him kind and understanding, but it also means he feels the pain of a hundred other people. When Victor first landed a quadruple flip in practice Yuuri felt his joy and triumph like his own; when Victor won gold at the Olympics it felt like being at the top of the world. When Victor smiled with too many teeth and hugged the golden medal to his chest in his Junior days, Yuuri held an imaginary one to his chest as well. He liked to believe that somewhere across the world, Victor could hear him every night as he whispered  _sladkikh snov_ into the dark.

Really, there was no explanation for the way his chest hurts like his own body is chained to that hospital bed, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

Phichit finds him about an hour later, letting himself in with a key he's had for as long as he's known Yuuri, and fortunately he doesn't bother asking questions or saying anything at all - he just takes Yuuri into his arms and strokes his hair as he cries. Somehow, Phichit makes it hurt more (or perhaps, less) and the tears come more freely, gross sobbing noises ripping from his mouth uninhibited and his fingers gripping his best friend's shirt like it's the only thing keeping him grounded.

 _Victor, Victor, Victor._ He'd like to say it's a celebrity crush, that it's a silly infatuation with somebody talented, but it's so much more than that. He's watched Victor grow up, he's been there for every fall and every land, he'd cried when Victor did and he learned enough English outside of school to understand Victor's video logs, and then he spent days upon days studying his Russian to perfect it so he could send Victor fan mail he wouldn't have to translate. Victor even replied in his own handwriting once thanking him for his enthusiasm and support, and sent a picture of him and Makkachin. It's hanging above Yuuri's bed right now, as he sits in it with Phichit, and just seeing it makes his chest hurt more.  _You can't leave._

Victor is the reason he's here, chasing after a dream of becoming a figure skater. He has so much to share with the world, and it's only been through Victor's figure skating that he's been able to chase that, to improve constantly.  _"There's nothing in the world not worth pursuing,"_ Victor said in one of his vlogs.  _"If somebody tells you what you're doing is crazy, that it's not possible, then you better do it. There's nothing more satisfying in the world than turning back to that person in a few years and showing them all that you've done and going, 'yeah, it might have been a crazy idea, but it's best crazy idea I've had in my life.' Prove that person wrong- no, prove yourself_ right _."_

Victor spent years fighting tooth and claw to become the top figure skater in a country full of outstanding professionals, and now it's amounted to nothing but a surplus of head injuries and a failed career. 

 _It feels pointless,_ Yuuri thinks to himself, anxiety twisting a knot in his gut.  _Working this hard, going to Detroit to study and train under Celestino - it isn't worth it if I can't meet Victor on the ice. Everything I've been chasing has collapsed._

He knows it's stupid. He knows how childish it is to place his career on that of somebody else's, he knows it's naive to give up this soon, but something inside of him has deflated. There's no longer Victor updating little positive notes on social media, no longer a broadly grinning face at the top of a podium to aspire to. Just on accident, and everything is flat and dull.

"You can't quit, Yuuri." Phichit's voice is quiet, but there's an edge to it that proves he knows exactly what Yuuri is thinking. Guilt washes over his mind but it's quickly replaced with anger - anger at the world for throwing his idol away like trash, anger at himself for giving up. "I know Victor is important to you, and I know you look up to him, but you have to keep skating. You can't let your talent and training go to waste - even Victor would disagree with that."

Phichit's right, and it only makes it hurt worse. He knows he's being irrational and stupid, and he blames it on his catastrophic emotions, but he can't do it - he can't open his eyes and think clearly. There's too much riding on this.

"I know." Yuuri's voice is ragged and cut up, and it hurts his ears to hear how pathetic he sounds. He pulls back a little and wipes at his eyes, annoyed with himself, annoyed with everything. Phichit's shirt is soaked in tears but his friend doesn't seem to notice, watching him with careful brown eyes. He knows that if he does decide to quit, Phichit will support him - but he also knows that Phichit won't agree with it. They promised to compete with each other, to stick it out until the Finals, but it's far too overwhelming. Yuuri takes a deep breath, glancing towards the poster next to his bed with Victor in the middle of a quadruple flip, his signature move. He knows for a fact that Victor failed to land that jump, but the posture is too perfect, too graceful - it's like watching a star die, the explosion of color that resulted from a violent supernova. "I won't quit."

It's an empty promise, and both of them know it. A silent  _yet_ dances on the tip of his tongue, lingers thick in the air between them. It hurts to swallow, but he does anyway, letting it burn all the way down along with the guilt. Still, Phichit just offers him a sad smile and hugs Yuuri again, and Yuuri can't help but feel alone in a room filled with posters and his best friend at his side - a hollowness, as if he's already isolating himself and drawing back in. It's a lonely feeling, but not one that he isn't used to.

"Victor's going to wake up," Phichit says once they've retreated from the embrace and are facing each other on his bed, kicking feet and rambling about nothing and everything at the same time. It's this kind of friendship with Phichit that Yuuri is going to miss when he ends it - the casual playfulness with an underlying devotion. He knows Phichit would do anything for him in a heartbeat after only knowing him for a couple years, and it's a powerful thing to know, but it's even more reason to back down. Still, Yuuri lets himself enjoy it for now.

Still, it's an abrupt shift from their previous chatter on Thai foods to try, and Yuuri blinks at him in bemusement. "What?"

"I mean," and Phichit gets a small smile on his face as he nudges Yuuri's ankle with his toes, "this is Victor Nikiforov we're talking about, right? I doubt he's going to just bend over and let himself... yeah. Remember back when he was in Juniors, and he dislocated his shoulder after a hard landing in one of his quads?"

"Of course." Yuuri remembers it clearly - he remembers feeling the pain as if it were his own, gritting his teeth and recoiling with a hiss. The look on Victor's face had been terrifying, a sheen of sweat across his whitened brow as he realized what had happened, and the audience had let out a gasp along with him. Even the announcers sounded horrified. And yet, Victor never stopped skating. "He put it back in place and landed a quad Lutz perfectly afterwards. It was incredible."

It was probably one of the proudest moments of Yuuri's life, and just thinking about it brings a small smile to his lips. Phichit meets it with a full-force grin.

"Exactly. And, not to mention, it was originally supposed to be a triple." Phichit kicks his ankle gently when he starts laughing quietly, clearly pleased with the boosted attitude. "What I'm trying to say is, there's a strong chance you'll wake up tomorrow and he'll be a professional hockey player or something. Victor's always surprising people like that. So you have to focus on getting better so when you meet him on the ice - which you will - you'll show that Nikiforov exactly what it feels like to be standing with a silver medal."

Yuuri's eyes crinkle with a laugh, but it still feels tight in his throat. It's a nice thing to say, and he's grateful that Phichit's trying to improve his attitude, but he knows better. The news articles themselves were saying that it was highly unlikely Victor would ever professionally skate again, that he would likely even have memory loss and not remember  _how_ , but those things were terrifying to think about so Yuuri repressed them and tried to focus on right now. 

"There you go," Phichit says with a glittering smile. "There's that laugh. If I were Victor Nikiforov, I'd be a very lucky man."

Yuuri can feel redness creeping up his neck and across his face, and he ducks his head to hide it, but it's no use - Phichit knows him better than he knows himself and laughs even harder, scooting across the bed and to Yuuri's side, giggling about how he would be honored to be lusted after by a cute little Japanese figure skater. Eventually they both collapsed in fits of laughter until there was an annoyed pound on the wall from the neighbors, and they muffled themselves by hiding under the blankets, where they talked for hours on everything ranging from Celestino's wild hair to the terrible Chinese place downtown they couldn't stop ordering from.

It was around four by the time Phichit finally fell asleep, his legs tangled with Yuuri's and a content expression lingering on his face even in his sleep. Yuuri thoughtlessly traced his fingers along his best friend's forehead, brushing the dark hair out of his face and wondering what it would be like without him after living with him for two years. They'd grown remarkably close in his time in Detroit and he knew it would be hard - hard to shove Phichit away, to see the smile on his face fall into hurt and confusion. He knew Phichit would understand, he knew he would never push Yuuri, and that only made it hurt worse.

It took a lot longer for Yuuri to fall asleep that night, guilt and regret twisting a knot in his gut, and when he did he only dreamed of hospitals and a dying star.

  


* * *

  


They both qualify for the Grand Prix Final at the end of the year. 

Yuuri should be happy, and somewhere inside of him is his twelve-year-old self leaping for joy and clutching Victor Nikiforov's poster, promising to win gold for him - but now, it feels hollow. Even though Phichit hugs him until his bones ache at the news, he can't fight the way his heart seizes in his chest with a vise-like grip wrapped around it. Even though Celestino takes them both out for dinner and congratulates them enthusiastically, it feels as if he's counting every day leading up to the Finals. He knows - he knows there's no way he's going to make it past this.

Celestino calls him out on it during practice. 

It isn't like usual, where he shouts across the ice. Instead, he pulls him aside during one of their breaks behind the bleachers, a somber look written across his face that somehow makes the knot resting at the bottom of his stomach tie even tighter. Celestino knows, and of course he does: he's been there since Yuuri first started competing professionally, and he knows him almost as well as Phichit. While their relationship is formal on the ice, off the ice Celestino serves as an out-of-country father figure, and the look he has on his face screams disappointment.

" _Polpetto,_ " Celestino opens, using the Italian name he's designated for Yuuri next to Phichit's  _cricetino_. "Something is on your mind, is it not?"

Yuuri bites the inside of his cheek, contemplates refuting it and telling Celestino he's just sleep deprived and stressed about Finals, but even in his mind it feels bitter and like he's lying to his coach. Instead he just keeps silent and lets that speak for him - it works, and Celestino's brows furrow as he crosses his arms and regards Yuuri carefully. He stays like that for a while, letting him fidget, before humming.

"This is about that skater you love, I heard about him in the news." Yuuri flinches slightly and Celestino rests his hand on his shoulder, his expression turning more serious than usual as he fixes Yuuri with a look. "Phichit also tells me you've been troubled in your sleep, not getting as much as you should. You need to focus on your health,  _polpetto_ , or you could miss a very important chance."

"I know," Yuuri says, and he sounds far too exasperated. Celestino gives him a look and he clears his throat, forcing a tired smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "I promise that I'm being serious about this, coach. I won't let it get in the way of my skating."

"Ah, but you are, son." Celestino smiles woefully at him. "Already, your jumps are messy and your step sequences are tired. I do not know how to explain it - it's as if you don't have the same spirit. I'm afraid you are going to let it overwhelm you when you perform."

Yuuri frowns to himself, trying to recall his skating. He knows his jumps haven't been landing, but that's hardly unusual for him. He generally relies on his step sequences, but if that's weak, then he's definitely in trouble. He can't help but feel guilty for that as well, and Celestino must realize this because he grips Yuuri's shoulder tightly, forcing him to look at him, and gives him a supportive smile. He can't help but notice that Celestino looks far older than usual, the lines around his eyes tired, and Yuuri wonders if maybe his retirement will make it easier for him - coaching two skaters at once can't be easy, and he has a wife and children as well.

"I have faith in you, Yuuri." Celestino removes his hand in favor of nudging Yuuri back to the rink, thumping him on the back reassuringly. It's a familiar gesture. "I know you'll do what is best, both for yourself and for your friends. Just remember that we're here to support you, no matter what you decide,  _sì_?"

It feels like goodbye, like Celestino is telling him it's okay to throw his career away, and while it's exactly what Yuuri wants it feels wrong. So instead he just presses a smile onto his lips and nods gratefully at Celestino. His coach appears to debate something at his expression, opening his mouth, but then Phichit calls out to them, waving frantically as he tries to get their attention to look at his quad. Celestino glances between them before patting Yuuri on the shoulder and going to greet Phichit.

Yuuri watches him go, something tugging at his chest begging to be released, but he pointedly ignores it. He moves to the rink border and watches as Phichit lands a quad toe loop effortlessly, and a smile tugs at his lips when his friend stops in the middle of his routine with a bright smile, shouting  _did you see that Ciao Ciao?_ across the rink and catching the attention of other skaters. Yuuri knows that Phichit has a lot riding on this season, as one of the most distinguished Thai skaters if not the most distinguished one. He'd said it multiple times: he was going to become Thailand's future.

Yuuri doesn't doubt it, either. Smiling proudly to himself, he pulls off his skate guards and gets back on the ice, where Phichit greets him with a bright smile and wave. 

"Hurry up, Yuuri," Phichit says as he meets him on the ice. "We've got a Grand Prix Final to conquer! I won't be making it easy to get gold!"

Yuuri laughs along with him at the challenge, but he knows where he'll be at the Finals - right back where he belongs, at the very bottom, where he can finally crawl back to Hasetsu and help with the onsen, just like his parents planned for him to. The ice is reserved for those willing to dominate it, and it isn't hard to realize he doesn't make the cut. Still, he's willing to be there for Phichit when his best friend wins gold at the upcoming Grand Prix Finals.

"I'd hope not," Yuuri says with a playful grin, ignoring his thoughts and focusing on supporting his friend.

The practice goes well after that. Phichit manages to land his quad toe loop every time he attempts it.

It feels like goodbye when they finally leave the rink hand-in-hand, Yuuri listening to Phichit chatter about his new friends that just entered the Senior bracket. Phichit tells him about Guang-Hong, the sweet Chinese figure skater he's teaching the joys of Snapchat to, and Guang-Hong's longtime best friend Leo with a nice smile and a good taste in food.

It's good to know Phichit will have other friends in the skating realm - he's always been charismatic and sweet, so Yuuri's not surprised in the least. 

"You have to meet them next season," Phichit says fondly, swinging their conjoined hands thoughtlessly. "I know you'll get along well."

"I'd love to." Yuuri smiles like he's not making an empty promise, and Phichit's answering grin is far worth it.

"You promise?"

"I promise." 

It's the first and final lie he tells his best friend.

  


* * *

  


"Yuuri," Phichit says, his voice on the edge of breaking. It hurts Yuuri to hear him like this, so close to tears instead of smiling like a fool. Guilt gnaws at his brain. "You can't. You can't do this."

The golden medal hanging around his friend's neck catches in the low light of the streetlamp above them, and seeing it makes some of the guilt ebb away. Phichit had never smiled as bright as he had when it was placed around his neck, fortunately distracted by the glittering lights and shining medals, and yet when he'd turned to his side to greet Yuuri there he'd been faced with an unfamiliar face - seeing that smile fall apart was one of the worst things Yuuri'd ever witnessed.

His smile was replaced with something far worse, a darkness that made his soft brown eyes grow cold and desperation leaking into the cracks. It hurts to see Phichit like this, a breath away from tears and clenching his hands together. The pride and joy that overwhelmed his face earlier is replaced with something pained and sad, and Yuuri hates himself for putting it there. Hates himself for not being strong enough to keep it away.

"I'm sorry." The words feel so fake, so false on his tongue, and he almost has to spit them out. Phichit's face crumples and he can feel the same guilt growing to a suffocating size in his throat. "I - You deserve that medal more than anyone else I know. I'm so happy for you-"

"I don't want this stupid medal!"

It's rare to see Phichit shout, it's rare to see him even remotely unhappy, and when he raises his voice it grates against Yuuri's sanity. Finally, the tears come, dripping down Phichit's face and leaving red streaks against his skin, angry and frustrated. He swipes at them as if betrayed by their presence and grabs the medal around his neck with trembling fingers, tugging it off of his head and throwing it to the ground where it falls with a loud thud. Yuuri flinches, but Phichit doesn't relent, stepping into Yuuri's space and grabbing onto his costume, the blue fabric trembling under his fingers.

"I don't care about any of this if you aren't here skating with me, Yuuri," Phichit says, his voice trembling and breaking. Yuuri hates himself more and more with every passing second, with every tear that escapes from his friend's pleading eyes. "You promised me, you weren't going to quit, that you were going to keep competing with me - you lied to me!"

 _I did,_ Yuuri thinks grimly, glancing down at his feet instead of at his best friend's face.  _Please hate me for it, shove me away._ He needs it, selfishly: to be kicked in the heels, to have people spitting at him as he leaves. Words like  _coward_ and  _idiot_ plastered on his name until people start forgetting his real name and start calling him a  _helpless fool_ instead.

"Yuuri," Phichit says his name again, a plea, as he grabs Yuuri's face with his hands and forces him to make eye contact. "You can't just quit because your idol died. There's so much more in you, and if Victor himself were here he'd say the same thing - I know he would, because you have so much talent and you can't just  _throw it away_!"

"He's not dead!" Yuuri snaps, his anger bubbling to a boiling point as the guilt starts to choke him by the throat. "I never said I was quitting, I just need a break. We both know I'm not the kind of person who can handle this. It's not about Victor, it's about  _me_. I'm weak, mentally if not physically, and you know it. I can't handle the pressure of the Grand Prix Finals - "

"Yes you can!" Phichit never interrupts him, but now it's like the words are clawing themselves out of his mouth, messy and desperate. "You're the strongest person I know. I'm constantly trying to catch up to you, and if you step back now you're giving up in the most important part of your career. We both know there's no recovering from this, and I know Victor's important to you, but you have to let him go. You have to focus on your own future."

"Maybe figure skating isn't my future." The words feel awful, left out to fester in the open air, and he lets the feeling claw at his stomach until he can find the right words. "Maybe I'm meant to work at the onsen with my parents and Mari. Maybe I was just deluding myself into thinking I could ever amount to half of what Victor is, or was, whatever. I can't keep chasing my tail, and Victor's fall is what I needed to open my eyes - that maybe, sometimes, not everyone can do something just because they  _want to_. That's child's play, Phichit, and you know it."

Phichit opens his mouth to reply, but something makes the words die in his throat. He stares at Yuuri for a long time, his dark eyes surveying Yuuri's for something before he finally releases his face and steps back, his expression quickly growing guarded. It hurts to see his friend do this, to push him away and close him off, but it's a pain that Yuuri needs to take the step back that he needs. Phichit turns on his heel, and for a minute Yuuri thinks this is it, his friend is leaving him, and he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, but when he opens them his friend is standing in front of him, the gold medal hanging from his hands, which are clenched around the ribbon as if trying to break it apart.

"If you're really going to leave," Phichit says quietly, his voice vulnerable and sad and tired and everything Yuuri wanted to avoid hearing from his best friend, "then I want you to take this with you. I'm not going to let you retire without at least one gold medal, because you said at the beginning of the season that it was your goal, and it's my job as your best friend to help you meet your goals. So take it with you and, at the very least, use it as a reminder to - to call, okay?"

Phichit's voice wavers at the end, and when he glances at Yuuri through his wet lashes he looks so vulnerable that it crushes any remainder of pride in Yuuri's chest into tiny, useless grains. He nods silently, not trusting his voice, and Phichit offers a shaking, little smile before reaching up to drape it around Yuuri's neck. The weight of it settling on his sternum is crushing, and he tries not to suffocate on the invisible pressure as Phichit adjusts it carefully and pats Yuuri's shoulders approvingly. Some of the usual glimmer hints at the back of his eyes, like a dying flame, and Yuuri holds onto it - of this image of Phichit, smiling weakly and trying his hardest to be strong even when Yuuri has been nothing but selfish and cruel.

"It's like it was made for you," Phichit says. "Yuuri Katsuki, gold-medalist figure skater and world's best friend. What a legacy to uphold. I'm almost jealous."

Somewhere at the end of his sentence, Phichit is crying again, and Yuuri has never hated the sight of tears so much in his life. When Phichit moves forward and wraps his arms around Yuuri's middle with a vise-like grip, as if he's trying to cage him in for the rest of his life, Yuuri doesn't dare fight him, hugging Phichit just as fiercely and not bothering to fight the tears that burn in his own eyes. This time it's Phichit sobbing into his arms and he hates this, he hates that he made Phichit cry and he hates the gold medal around his neck, hates that he ever made Phichit even stop smiling for a second. His best friend deserves so much better, so much more - and he's stripped it all away on a night that should have been celebration over a legendary success. 

"I'll call everyday," Yuuri promises into Phichit's costume, and Phichit just cries harder. "I'll call so much that you'll block my number. I'll even update on Instagram like you want me to. There won't be a single minute of my life you don't know about. If I sneeze, you'll get a second-by-second description the moment it's happening - heck,  _while_ it's happening."

Phichit laughs, smothering the sound in Yuuri's shoulder, and he strokes his friend's hair comfortingly while the tears slowly ebb away and Phichit pulls back to wipe them away from his face. His nose is all red now, but he still manages to look cute in spite of the tears and offers a shaky little smile when he catches Yuuri looking at him. "Like what you see?" His is voice is small, quiet, but hopeful - and Yuuri is hardly going to deny him, smiling in response and wiping some of the tears from Phichit's eyes.

"Model-worthy," he assures Phichit. "We should take a selfie to remember it."

They do, both holding the golden medal between them and smiling like idiots even though their faces are both soaked with tears - as soon as the shutter closes Phichit is crying again and begging him to call, and Yuuri just holds him on the lonely bench under the streetlamp until there's no more tears left and Phichit is giggling about his gross tears and the makeup messed up on his face from his performance. It takes a long time to get back to the hotel, with Phichit holding his hand hard enough to make it hurt, and they allow themselves to indulge in the beauty of the city before finally rolling into their room and burrowing under the covers of Yuuri's bed, a perfect fit.

"I'm going to miss this," Phichit says quietly, when the quiet words and laughs have faded away, and Yuuri can't help but agree with him. Phichit pauses, debating something with himself and getting that crease in his forehead. Yuuri rubs it out with his thumb on instinct and Phichit looks at him, cross-eyed, before finally coming to a decision and smiling gently. "Hey, Yuuri. Do you think we could get married someday?"

The question throws Yuuri, his thumb halting on Phichit's forehead where it's brushing mindless patterns.  Back in their first year of knowing each other they had played with the idea of dating - shy touches, knowing smiles, and soft kisses shared in the darkness of their shared room. They weren't the first friends to try it and they certainly wouldn't be the last, but eventually they'd decided to focus on skating. Back then, their relationship had been playful and soft, experimenting and fantasizing. Too many times had Yuuri imagined that Yuuri's drifting fingers belonged to Victor, that his lips were that of his idol's. It's was a child's game, really.

"Sorry, it was kind of a weird question." Phichit laughs quietly at Yuuri's silence and adjusts himself so he's pressed closer to Yuuri, their shared body heat trapped under the thick hotel blankets. "I was just wondering, when I retire, and whether or not you decide to. Like, the future - if we end up alone, can you see us getting married?"

It's a serious question, and if Yuuri's being honest the answer is yes. It's all to easy to imagine settling into a life with Phichit full of warm summers and quiet firefly nights, listening to his best friend and spouse breathe in time with him. Phichit is comfortable, warm, and safe - it brings him a warmth and comfort that he gets around his family, and he appreciates that. 

"That sounds nice," Yuuri says, and Phichit grins a one-thousand-watt smile. "Imagine a bunch of little figure skaters running around at our feet. Maybe we could be coaches sometime, at our own little rink. It'd be super domestic - I'd be the wife, of course."

Phichit rolls his eyes at that, but the smile on his face is hard to ignore. It brings a warmth to Yuuri's stomach, a familiarity, and when Phichit leans in and kisses him he kisses back. His friend is familiar and warm, and it's far too easy to settle into a comfortable rhythm, letting Phichit take control and put every unspoken feeling he has into a simple kiss. Yuuri smiles against his mouth when Phichit runs his hands through his hair and pulls his glasses off, and even though it's pleasant, it's like a final goodbye - or maybe a  _see you later_ , but Yuuri takes it in anyways and lets Phichit have his way again.

They stay like that for a few hours, kissing without really going anywhere until exhaustion numbs them both and they settle into a comfortable position with Phichit's head resting on Yuuri's chest and soft, sleepy exhales stirring his nightshirt. He makes meaningless little promises to Phichit until his best friend falls asleep, and eventually he gives in too, trying not to think about how he'd just lost his closest and best friend he could have ever asked for.

  


* * *

  


When Yuuri finally settles back into Hasetsu, it isn't the same.

Of course, he expected this. After all, he'd put most of his life into figure skating (rather foolishly, on his part) and now he had very little to rely on. Every day felt plastic and the same, working the inn and occasionally going to the rink to help Yuuko, but he couldn't look at the ice the same way. Instead of seeing it as a comforting sanctuary, the ice looked like a daunting road leading to absolutely nothing, and he couldn't work up the courage to step foot on it - he couldn't even tie his damn skates, which remained neatly packed in his bag along with the gold medal Phichit gave him.

True to his promise, Yuuri keeps Phichit updated on almost every part of his life. Most frequently are pictures of his little Vicchan, who is still small even though he's older now, his little brown curls fraying out and his muzzle slightly gray. Still, it's nice to come home to his excited barks and happy circles after a particularly long day, and he finds that he missed that back in Detroit. Phichit is infinitely jealous, even though he managed to smuggle his hamsters into the apartment, and every day he gets a new request for different outfits to put on his poor poodle.

Still, it's a life he can settle into. The rink is always busy, especially with Yuuri hanging around as a "living, breathing legend" as they like to call him, even though he feels like anything but. The atmosphere is relieving, and every day he can come home to warm food and a warm family and the onsen without ever having to feel like he's being pressured. His parents are especially understanding, and Mari was there on the night he came home and bawled just like he did when he was twelve, and she held him just as tightly as she had then, too. 

But it isn't the same. The posters on the wall begin to fall apart and peel, the sound of a dog barking is nice but not as exciting. His laptop sits abandoned in the corner, his days of diligently checking the message boards for updates on Victor now gone and grown dusty just like the blades of his skates. He can feel something tugging at him, and inexplicable need to  _go_ , to do something, and yet even though he tries to fight it it persists. 

At three in the morning on a cold February night, after spending hours rolling around restlessly in bed and accidentally kicking Vicchan, he finally crawls out of bed, grabs his skating bag, and goes to the rink.

The doors are locked, obviously, but ever since he's started helping lessons Yuuko has let him keep a key. It's an eerie feeling to be in the rink after dark, but one that is reminiscent of his teenage years before going to Detroit, so he clings to it. He turns on the lights in the rink and slowly they start to come to life with the sleepy buzz that fluorescent lights make that eases his nerves. However, as he starts to unzip his bag, his fingers still.

This is stupid. He gave up on figure skating, and yet he's no better than an addict going through withdrawal - unable to separate himself from the ice that he'd carves countless paths into. 

Still, the surface of it is cold and smooth as marble, freshly cleaned and unmarked by any other blades. The pearly surface reflects off of the dim lights invitingly, calling him without using words, and finally Yuuri lets out an annoyed huff and unzips his bag, pulling out the skates and untying them.  _Just once. Just to remember what it feels like, and then I'll go back to normal working the onsen tomorrow._ It feels like an excuse even in his brain but he ignores it, feeling the familiar slide of the skate around his foot and almost sighing in relief as he ties them tight and stands. His balance shifts automatically to accompany the skates, and it feels  _right._

When he finally makes his way onto the ice he almost falls, and it's stupid, but he ignores it. Once he's balanced, he pushes off gently and glides across the ice aimlessly, letting his center of balance recover and grow accustomed to the skates. Just after a couple months he's been reduced to this, a stumbling mess - and the thought irritates him until he skates forward with more confidence, leaving his doubts behind him as he starts to do loops around the rink. The familiar scratch of his blades on the ice is like music to his ears, and he closes his eyes and lets himself bask in the feeling for a moment, selfishly.

Being alone like this in the middle of the night inevitably brings up memories of his past, of a stumbling teenager struggling to keep up with the fast pace of his life and also make it as a figure skater to achieve his dreams. He looks back sourly on his naivety now, but something stirs inside of him, and before he realizes it he's come to a halt in the middle of the ice, eyes closed as he pulls to mind the performance Victor Nikiforov had performed and won gold with the night before the accident. The word leaves a bitter taste on his tongue but he can already feel his head rolling back into position, his arms lifting into the longing prayer to echo Victor's. 

He remembered it perfectly - of course he did.

The music cued and he felt the ice give way under his skates as he swept across it, the familiarity of the routine after nights spent forcing Phichit to come to the rink to watch it and correct it, and it's almost a force of habit at this point. He lets muscle memory guide him as he mimics a young and lively Victor, reaching out to somebody that didn't exist, writing a story about a lost lover that had never really existed in the first place. He does his rusty muscles and feet a favor and drops the jumps to singles or doubles, but the feeling is all to familiar when his blade kicks of the ice and he's soaring, and the impact of hitting the ice hurts in the best way imaginable.

The world falls apart under his feet and he doesn't dare stop, just lets his body do the work as he feels his blood hum just beneath the surface, a cacophony of noise cluttered in his heat effectively silenced by the scrape of his blades and a soundless  _Stammi Vicino_ in the background. 

After not skating for such a long time Yuuri expects to fall at least once, but perhaps it's the fact that he no longer fears falling that he executes the simple jumps flawlessly. When he gets to the end of the program with his elbows held to the audience of none, his chest is heaving and sweat smears across his forehead, but it's the most alive he's felt since... since he heard about Victor's accident. So many days spent checking the news for any notification of his recovery and yet none stands - he is completely and utterly alone, and somehow he feels anything but. He feels as if he's standing in Victor Nikiforov's skates and bending his body as his own, he's taken control of the piece, it's  _his._

And suddenly he wonders if retiring was the right choice. It's a stupid decision to make so late, but it still shakes him until the point of dropping the stance and bending on his knees, feeling the familiar cold, wet ice seeping through his pants. His feet are sore and his legs ache but it feels right, and he feels so, so stupid for ever trying to give this up.

"What have I done?" His voice is stricken, soft, and yet it echoes through the huge rink until it's bouncing around in his mind tenfold. He doesn't expect any answer except for the silence of the rink walls, because rationally there is no response - it is only him.

"If I may say so myself," interrupts a hauntingly familiar, smooth voice, "I would say you've created a masterful rendition of a tired and quite frankly melodramatic program. But, that's just my opinion, take it as you will."

It doesn't take turning around to recognize that voice, but it does to confirm that he's not out of his fucking mind, because that's a voice he knows better than his own, or his parents', or even Phichit's. It's a voice he's drowned himself in hundreds of times in both English and Russian and even some French, a voice he heard mature as he grew up and a voice that sends a shiver all the way down the nape of his neck to the base of his spine. And he absolutely cannot believe that, so he takes his chances and glances over his shoulder to confirm he is truly, inexplicably out of his mind.

And sure enough, leaning on the edge of the rink with his arms folded and an amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips that puts a sparkle in his eyes, is Victor Nikiforov in the flesh and blood.

Except it's not, because he's in a coma halfway across the world and in absolutely no shape to be at a homely rink smack in the middle of nowhere Hasetsu, Japan. Logically, there isn't a single explanation for what Yuuri's seeing except for the fact that he may be delusional, and he doesn't even want to attempt to indulge in that. So instead he just stares at Victor until his eyes burn from not blinking, and then, hell, he stares some more. Victor just continues to smile at him, though it turned a little bit less playful and more bemused as the silence yawns between them. Finally, he speaks again -  _speaks, to_ him - and it's everything Yuuri's dreamed of and more because Victor is looking at him and he's talking to him and, Christ, he's walking towards him.

"I know we've only just been acquainted, so this may seem like an odd request." Victor tilts his head a little and the frock of silver hair moves out of his face to reveal an endearing smile, and Yuuri's pretty sure if he wasn't already kneeling on the ground he would have surely collapsed. "But I was wondering if you could help me out. It appears that I've been separated from my body."

It is at that moment in time that Yuuri realizes Victor is not walking on the ice, which would have been a dangerous feat considering he's wearing dress shoes that would certainly throw him facefirst into the ice on a good day. No, he does not walk, in fact, his feet hover at least a half of an inch above the ground.

"Since you're a figure skater, this might seem obvious," Victor continues nonchalantly, "but I'd recommend that you get off of the ice before passing out, which is an entirely plausible response. You'd risk getting pneumonia, and I don't seem to have the ability to touch... anything at all. And so far, you're the only person that can see me, and you're quite attractive, so it would be quite a shame if you were to get ill and die before I even get to know your name."

Yuuri is unconscious before Victor even gets to finish his last sentence.

**Author's Note:**

> we solemnly swear the romcom tag is there for a reason just. not this chapter ;^) enjoy this and let us know what you think!! writing this together was a blast and it is primarily written by my lovely s.o. katsukiforov - i'm more or less the helpful editor and idea bouncer so please shower her with your affections
> 
> P.S. Katsu here, I hope you continue to support my work and that you enjoyed this! Also, Wyn deserves just as much praise, because she's the one who dragged my lazy ass off the couch and forced me to write this. Go read her amazing stuff! <3


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